Page 43 of The Final Draft

Kat drives us home, we walk Noodle, and return to her apartment. Zac’s apartment? Still not sure. This is where we usually say goodnight, but this time feels different.

“Now what?” I ask. Hope fills my chest as I wait for her answer.

“I told you. I’ve got a date. You’re welcome to tag along.” She reaches out and takes my hand as she enters the building. The doorman holds the door as Noodle saunters through like he owns the place. I follow along like another obedient puppy.

We enter the apartment, and Noodle sits in the kitchen, waiting. She laughs and gives him a treat. “He’s so spoiled,” she says. “Make yourself at home. I’m going to change if that’s okay with you. Ice cream is in the freezer. Grab a beer, whatever you want. I’ll be right back.”

She wanders down the hall, and I stand in the foyer, uncertain what to do next. This is unfamiliar territory for me. Is Burns going to be home soon? How will he react to me drinkinghis beer? Do I care? No, not really. I look in the freezer and find several pints of ice cream, all Ben and Jerry’s Karamel Sutra Core. Of course she likes complex ice cream. It’s two flavors of ice cream with caramel and toppings. No simple flavors for her. And the name makes me chuckle. I pull out a pint and a spoon. If she’s anything like Ash, it’s straight out of the carton for her. I grab a sparkling water and make a mental note of the contents of their refrigerator. Lots of clean food, probably Zac’s, and enough junk food to let me know she’s not a strict salad and water girl. I’ve been with enough of those to know they are hangry all the time.

“What are you looking at?” I ask Noodle. He’s curled up in his bed, watching me like I’m the most interesting thing he’s seen today. Maybe I am.

Harper joins me in the kitchen, and she’s caught me off guard this time. Every transformation this girl makes fascinates and terrifies me at the same time. Right now, it’s how fucking gorgeous she is in her home-for-the-evening-look. Her hair’s piled up in a messy bun, which is the sexiest hairstyle because it’s so carefree. She’s wearing flannel pajama bottoms that are covered in pink dinosaurs, a black tank top, with a lace bralette peeking out from the straps. I’ve seen her dressed in leather, hockey jerseys, and jeans that hug her ass, but nothing has been as sexy as this look. She has a freshly washed face and is makeup-free. “Fuck, you look good.”

“I thought you promised to be honest.” She reaches around me, grabs the ice cream, and eats a big spoonful. “I figure if we’re friends,” she says with a mouthful of ice cream, “you need to see the real me. This is it.” She waves her hand up and down her body. “This is my at home, TV binge watching, ice cream eating, typical look. I’ll understand if you want to run.”

If she thinks this scares me, she doesn’t know me at all. I reach for her wrist and tug her to me. My hand cradles hermakeup-free face as my arm wraps around her waist. “The only place I want to run is into your arms. You are so fucking sexy I can’t stand it.”

Her eyes flutter like she’s glitching. Did I break her? I press my forehead to hers and inhale. “I’m so turned on right now, Harper.” Her soft lips cut off my words as they come into contact with mine. This kiss is slow, lazy, and comfortable and tastes like sweet cream and caramel. I’m lost in her kiss, hoping it never ends. A kitchen kiss is intimate, and intimacy isn’t usually my strong suit. Trust issues keep you from letting someone in. But this woman’s burrowed her way into my heart and soul.

She takes a step back and snags her ice cream, acting like the kiss didn’t faze her. “Come on, let me show you what a typical Friday night with me looks like.”

I obediently follow her into the living room. She sits on the floor with her back to the couch and takes a bite of her ice cream. “Oh, this is the perfect consistency.” Her eyes close, and she moans around the spoon. I’ve never wanted to be a spoon more in my life.

I sit on the floor next to her and watch, gobbling up every detail to make a memory I can pull when I need a definition of perfection.

She turns her attention to the table that has a partially completed puzzle. She bites her lip as she searches for a piece. “Do you like puzzles, Julian?”

“Um, sorry, what?”

“Puzzles? Do you like doing puzzles? Keep up, Decker.” She looks at me like I’ve got two heads.

“I rarely slow down enough to enjoy one,” I answer honestly. “But they remind me of rainy days at the beach. When I was younger, we had a beach house, and when the weather was bad, my mom would pull out a puzzle, and we’d all work together to finish it. Alexander would methodically finish a section andmove on to another one. I spent most of my time finding pieces for Ash to place. She’d get so excited when she found one, and it made everyone laugh.” The memory brings up feelings I thought I’d buried deep. “I haven’t done a puzzle since.”

She leans into me and lays her head on my arm. “That’s sweet. I love how you take care of your sister.”

“Yeah, it’s funny. Xander and I competed a lot, fought like cats and dogs when we were young, but never with Ash. Not sure if it’s the age difference or if she’s so much like our mom, but we always knew she was to be treated with love and respect. Poor girl.”

“Why do you say that?” She puts another puzzle piece down.

“We can be a little overbearing.”

“Nooooo,” she says sarcastically and giggles. “I’ve heard stories. Did you really punch Cole?”

“That wasn’t me. It was Xander, and yeah, it’s true. I’m more of a lover than a fighter.” I wiggle my eyebrows at her. My reward for a touching story is a punch in the arm. To gain sympathy, I rub my arm to soothe the nonexistent pain. She’s not phased.

She takes another bite of her ice cream and moves to her knees to reach for another piece. “Found it!” She gives herself a silent clap and bounces on her knees. “That one’s been driving me crazy.”

We stay like this for hours: telling stories and working on the puzzle together. She lets me put in the last piece, and I’m rewarded with another kiss. I’ll never be able to separate the taste of caramel and vanilla from her.

Harper tries to hide her yawn, but it’s no use. She can’t hide anything from me. “It’s getting late, and you should get some rest.” I help her up from the floor and pull her into my arms. I need to tell her I’m her writing partner. She gave me so many opportunities, but I’m a coward.

I give Noodle a quick scratch behind his floppy ears and give her a quick, chaste kiss before I leave. Soon. I’ll tell her soon.

CHAPTER

TWENTY-EIGHT

JULIAN

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